


To the man on the plane

by linumlea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Hinata is a ray of sunshine, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 07:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10736937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linumlea/pseuds/linumlea
Summary: Based on a prompt: "author of book gets seated on a plane next to someone reading their book and making entertaining faces at each scene au"Akaashi Keiji writes books and flies on planes. He hadn't thought it would be so nice to see someone reading something he wrote right next to him.





	To the man on the plane

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Yurika for checking for my mistakes and typos! <3  
> If there are any left, they are entirely my fault.

The throb in Akaashi’s head pulses in tandem with his slowed-down heartbeat. It crawls around like a heavy, slimey creature that has taken a much unneeded liking to Akaashi’s poor head, leaving behind a trail of a scattered sort of discomfort. As Akaashi walks through the crowded airport, he tries to wish it away with pure willpower alone, but the creature only digs its little claws into his tender mind and refuses to budge. 

It likes being there, he supposes. It has been appearing more often than not, sliding into view when Akaashi tries to concentrate, and leaving muddy tracks all over the place. Akaashi has grown tired of trying to chase it away.

The check in has a giant queue and Akaashi’s eye twitches.

When he finally deposits his luggage, he is close to sagging from relief - the rattling of the little wheels of his suitcase was a torture to his dehydrated, murderously tired mind. He didn’t particularly want to go on traveling without a change of clothes, but he did have a secret tiny thought to just chuck the damned thing out. It would be too much trouble, though, he decided.

He is free of it now, the only things left to carry along are a bag and his coat. He can board the plane and then come back to the blessed peacefulness of his own home.

The people milling about around the gate chatter loudly, much like agitated birds, some more, some less nervous. He pushes past them and minutes later a flight attendant in a stark blue costume greets him aboard the slowly filling plane. She seems to scrutinize him momentarily, taking in his vaguely untidy, tired appearance, and she simply gestures to where his seat is. He is grateful for that, perhaps needlessly.

He flops down into the seat by the window and closes his eyes, only opening them when the seat next to his is filled too - a man his age with a curious, eye-catching haircolour nods at him with a flash of a smile and almost immediately buries his head into a book, paying his surroundings no more mind.

Akaashi is sort of grateful for that too. He settles into his seat, fidgeting until he finds a comfortable position.

He turns to look out of the tiny window. The inside of the plane reflects in the glass, the night outside turning it into a hazy, too dark for details mirror.

The man with the book closes it for a moment to reach for something in his bag and a familiar detail catches Akaashi’s eye. He quickly glances to the side, just in time to read the title on the cover of the book in the man’s lap. He bites his lip, a bit embarrassed and equally giddy.

After all, how often do you catch someone reading your book in public? It hasn’t ever happened to Akaashi even once before, and the unusualness of the experience intrigues him. He knows what some people have thought about his novel because they told him after reading the whole thing. But he was not privy to seeing their reactions in real time before and he felt that was a bit of a shame.

Getting to finally catch a glimpse at it is a gift Akaashi really didn’t expect.

He turns his head ever so slightly, watching the man out of the corner of his eye. Stranger’s expression shifts as he keeps on reading, his back hunched. The hairs at the nape of the man’s neck curl in tangled tiny coils, looking soft under the subdued light of the overseat lamp. With involuntary glee Akaashi notes the scrunching of the man’s face, a horizontal line appearing at the bridge of his nose as he turns the pages with a whispery rustle. Akaashi can’t be sure, but he thinks that the book appears to have been read many times - there are a few dog eared pages that the stranger smooths down as he goes and a coffee stain. The man still holds the book with a lot of care, and Akaashi is pleased at the knowledge that the worn-out look of it comes from reading rather than neglect of it. 

The man only tears himself away from reading once, to shake his head when the attendant asks him something. Akaashi too shakes his head. The attendant nods pleasantly and continues on her way to the back of the plane. When he throws a sideway glance at the stranger again, he can’t help but stare.

The stranger’s shoulders shake as he tries to smother his giggling behind his palm, cheeks flushed and corners of eyes crinkling.

Akaashi takes a deep breath. He isn’t sure he should do it, but the curiosity eats away at him and tingles on his tongue. 

“Excuse me.”

The man’s ears twitch and he turns to look at Akaashi curiously. Akaashi finds himself eye to eye with a warm brown gaze hiding behind almost ridiculously large glasses. There is five freckles on the man’s nose and Akaashi’s first thought is wondering if there would be more if it was summer and not late autumn.

“May I ask what scene you are at?”

‘He should be right around the restaurant talk,’ Akaashi thinks. He judges this from the thickness of the part the man has read and his last expression.

The man’s eyelashes flutter as he blinks and looks down to steal a glance at the book in his lap. There are dimples in his cheeks when he faces Akaashi again and Akaashi can’t help but smile right back. The man has such a bright aura about him, inner good humour dripping from the arch of his brows and flowing through every little movement of his lips.

“Have you read this book too?” The man asks, sounding hopeful. 

The corner of Akaashi’s lips quirks up secretly. “You could say that, yes.”

“It’s actually my favourite.” The man’s chest puffs up and he leans in his seat towards Akaashi. “I’ve read it at least four times already. I- I don’t read much because I can’t concentrate on sentences sometimes, but this one I just keep coming back to, you know.”  He caresses the book’s spine with soft fingers and a wistful sort of look on his face. Then he ducks his head, sheepish as he rubs the side of his neck. “Sorry, didn’t mean to blab. I’m at the restaurant scene.”

Akaashi exhales through his parted mouth. The headache creature in his mind seems to consider the situation and quietly retreats to the background.

‘Favourite book’ is always a sweet thing to hear, and coming from someone like this, met by chance on an evening north-south flight, somehow feels more meaningful. Akaashi does get compliments about his writings sometimes, in fanmail the publisher delivers to him once in awhile, and during autograph signings when people gush to him about their favourite characters and how amazing that one particular fragment was. 

But this - there is something special about meeting his book in an unexpected place and hearing praise uttered freely by a total stranger, given voluntarily, just because that person liked the book so much they had to share the tiny piece of their affection. The realization of this gently tightens Akaashi’s throat and swells up the heart that quickens up its pace under his ribs.

The man is glancing between Akaashi and his book, seeming preoccupied with wondering whether Akaashi wants to keep talking with him or the man can go back to reading. Akaashi considers whether it would be rude to keep the man from his reading for a moment longer and then does it anyway.

“Have you read the sequel?” he asks.

“Yes.” The man nods with enthusiasm. He appears happy to talk to Akaashi about something he is passionate about. His glasses slide down his nose and he pushes them right back with an itty frown on his forehead, adorably irritated at having to do so. “I really liked it! Not as much as this one,” he gazes fondly at the book,” this one is special after all, but it was really good.”

He goes on talking, his hands a flutter of gestures that gets wilder as time passes. Akaashi nods along, finding himself more and more fascinated with stranger’s mannerisms.

He soon learns the name of the man - Hinata catches himself at one moment and slaps his forehead with a loud smack. He offers Akaashi an extended hand, a twinkle in his eye. 

“I’m really happy to be able to talk with someone who knows this story,” he says, excited. “I tried to convince my colleague to read it, but he is even less of a reader than me. He said that he would much rather watch a movie.”

“Maybe someday,” Akaashi says. ‘True, a movie adaptation wouldn’t be all that bad,’ he thinks. 

“Man, that would be nice.” Hinata looks up thoughtfully, twisting his mouth. His gaze falls to the other side, across the passage between the rows of seats and he turns to Akaashi with a worried look. “Am I keeping you up, Keiji-san? Wouldn’t you rather rest?”

Akaashi glances around - the night flight is filled with dozing off people. He was so preoccupied he didn’t even notice when the inside of the plane began to fill with snores and heavy, slowed down breathing of tens sleeping people. He shrugs.

“It’s fine,” he says. “My headache is so much better now, too.”

“Oh.” Hinata’s brows knit. “I had no idea your head hurt. You should have told me, I didn’t want to keep you-”

“It’s fine, really.” Akaashi stops Hinata with a pat on his arm. “You took my mind off things.”

Hinata seems more relieved after that. He starts telling Akaashi about his usual experience with night flights - he can’t really sleep in planes and since his colleague’s grumpy if Hinata tries to talk with him and keep him awake, Hinata is usually left alone with his thoughts. Akaashi laughs when Hinata tells him about his colleague’s milk obsession and the permanent frown. Though he gripes about the man a lot, Hinata and his mysterious colleague seem to get along just fine. 

Akaashi jerks in surprise when the lights on the plane flash brighter and the flight attendant informs the passengers that the plane will land in five minutes. Akaashi didn’t even notice that almost two hours have passed.

“Oh, we are in Tokyo already.” Hinata leans a bit towards the window, thoughtlessly invading Akaashi’s space. Akaashi stares at the mess of Hinata’s hair and then looks out of the window too. The city below them glistens with lit up buildings and gleams with smooth car lights. The cords of lamp posts adorn the streets.

When he looks at Hinata again, Hinata is smiling, though there is a crease on his forehead. 

“Thanks, Keiji-san,” Hinata says. He keeps his tone light, but the sentence drops at Akaashi’s name. Akaashi’s shoulders drop.

“Thank you too. I have a feeling this flight would have been way worse if I got seated somewhere else,” he tells Hinata, revelling in it when Hinata brightens.

The plane lands, the passengers start to get up and general chaos ensues. Akaashi tries not to feel dejected when the seat next to his empties, but then he spots Hinata again in the baggage reclaim minutes later.

Hinata waves at him, tugging his suitcase along as he weaves past other passengers. He looks so crumpled in the sharp lights of the airport, his white shirt covered in creases and the bags under his eyes dark with shadows. He reaches Akaashi and opens his mouth-

“Hinata, get going already!”

A man with an unimpressed frown glares in their direction from a few feets apart, Hinata faltering in his steps. He shoots Akaashi an apologetic sort of smile.

“Sorry, I really need to go. See you, Keiji-san!”

Akaashi barely manages to lift his hand before Hinata disappears in the crowd. With a pang of loss, Akaashi picks up his luggage and goes home.

He almost falls asleep in the taxi. The grouchy creature in his head slips to the front again, settles itself behind Akaashi’s eyes, and glares at nothing in particular as Akaashi turns the key in the lock to his apartment.

His bed creaks when he falls on it, suddenly strengthless. The drawn curtains filter most of the dawn’s light.

He lies motionlessly for a few minutes and then tucks his nose into the pillow. “Stupid,” he mumbles to himself. Behind the wall, his neighbours seem to start their day just as Akaashi falls asleep on top of the covers, still fully clothed.

 

The bookshop Akaashi’s autograph signing is at has a large, embarrassing banner at the front, with Akaashi’s pen name and the title of the new back written in way too large letters. He should be used to this by now, but he thinks he never will. He has been to tens of those signings and yet the situation always feels peculiar.

He is the author and he feels so goddamn weird, sitting behind that desk as people in front of him hand him his own books and tell him just how much of a fan they are. He is grateful, he really is - but all those people tire him out so much he wants to drop everything and go hide somewhere where no one will ever find him again. He supposes the ventilation vents of this shopping center might work just fine.

He finishes the signature and gives back the book to the girl, who thanks him with a stutter. Akaashi flexes his hand - it’s starting to throb with dull pain and he winces at the thought of having to sign books for at least a few more hours. The next person in line moves forward, strangely hesitant.

“Kei- Keiji-san?”

Akaashi whips his head up so quickly his neck cracks and his eyes go wide. His hand jerks, involuntary, and he knocks over a plastic cup of water sitting at the desk. “Shit,” he mutters as he jumps from his seat, frantically patting his pockets. Water runs down his sweater and soaks into his clothes.

He hadn’t thought- He had  _ hoped, _ yes, but actually meeting like this is just so unexpected; Akaashi’s hands tremble a bit as his mind is thrown off its balance.

“Here.” A pack of paper tissues appears before his eyes and Akaashi accepts it. He throws a glance up at- at Hinata’s face - he looks confused and, Akaashi realizes with a stutter of his heartbeat, hopeful, his mouth forming the tiniest of ‘o’s.

Once the mess is dealt with, Akaashi sits back down behind the table. Hinata is standing wordlessly in front of him, regarding him with something akin to wonder, the book tucked snug against his chest. The person next in line behind Hinata clears their throat and Hinata blinks back to reality. He hastily hands Akaashi the book and fidgets with his hands.

Akaashi finds himself at loss for words. The almost blank title page inside the book seems to taunt him and he grips his pen tighter. “How do you write your name, Hinata-san?” he asks.

“I was hoping you could write ‘Shouyou’, actually,” Hinata says.

“‘Shouyou’,” Akaashi repeats softly. He risks another glance up and sees Hinata gnawing at his lip. “It’s ‘flying’ and ‘sunshine’, isn’t it?” The tip of his pen touches the paper and he writes the inscription. It begins like a typical one, but with each letter Akaashi feels like his personal little doom is creeping closer. Either he ends it standard and most probably never sees Hinata again, or he takes the risk of writing his personal contacts in an almost-stranger’s book and pissing off his editor. Yukie-san’s wrath is nothing to sneeze at, he knows.

He is going to risk it anyway.

Akaashi ends his signature with a flourish and snaps the book closed. When he hands it back to Hinata, he tries to hold his gaze, though Hinata appears to be even more confused by that. Akaashi nods at him and then the next person in line pushes through and Hinata starts walking away. Out of the corner of his eye he can see HInata’s retreating back, shoulders slightly hunched.

Then Hinata goes rigid and stops in his tracks. He whirls in place and Akaashi’s heartbeat pulses heavily when he sees the book in Hinata’s hands is opened at the title page.

What Yukie-san does not see, Yukie-san can’t grieve over. 

 

Two hours later Akaashi leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. A deep, deep sigh escapes his mouth and he presses a can of cold soda to his aching hand. Yukie-san is telling him something about the next meeting and he nods, doing his best to listen and failing spectacularly because of the mist that seems to gather painfully behind his eyes.

He jerks up suddenly when the phone in his jacket bleeps at him. He digs it out and bites the inside of his cheek in an attempt to smother the smile that tugs at his mouth because of the cheerful emoji the message starts with.

“Akaashi-san? Are you listening?”

Akaashi turns off the screen in haste and peers up. Yukie-san stares at him steadily, eyebrow raised in a clear question. She rests one of her hands on her hip.

“Akaashi-san, please decide between being suspiciously happy and looking like a kid that has smeared the whole tv remote in peanut butter and jelly and is trying to hide it from its parents.”

“Have you ever thought about becoming a writer yourself, Yukie-san? You have such a way with words.”

She levels him with an unimpressed, disdainful look, and shakes her head. “I like my job. We can’t all be novelists, now, can we?”

He nods to appease her and makes confirmative noises throughout the rest of her talk, even as his mind drifts innocently to where his phone rests in the pocket, waiting for Akaashi to reply to the message that inexplicably has made his world just a little bit brighter the moment the screen blinked with it.

Yukie-san still watches him, though, and he regrets having her sharp eyes on him. She knows much, and she will learn the rest quickly, so it would be better to fess up before she finds out on her own.

He wonders how to tell her that the dedication ‘To the man on the plane, for unwittingly saying all the right things’ he asked to be printed inside the book was as much thanks as it was a call for contact, and he decides he is just going to buy her a double caramel latte and hope for the best. Once she meets Hinata too, she will  _ understand.  _

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this on a whim and i was like ,,,,,  
> why do i whip up something like this in one evening but the second i sit down to write the stuff i actually long to finally write i can’t get even one word on the page??? shit’s fucked up  
> anyhow, i hope you enjoyed this!! cheers!!


End file.
